Warm Hands

I try to walk daily. My one big deterrent is rain. There is nothing at all pleasant about being drenched to the bone while trying to enjoy a walk. Snow falling on me, can be brushed off, or is usually blown off by the accompanying wind. My body and mind have grown accustomed to the routine, and when it doesn't happen, there is a sense of longing.

The other day which was a wintry day, I was walking along the trail with my husband and our dog. It was cold day but as we walked my hands which were in mittens got too warm. I took my mittens off and as I did I had a flashback to my childhood.

In the winter time if we wanted to visit our neighbours on the farm next to us, we either walked or took a horse drawn sleigh. We chose the evenings for our visits carefully - often it would be a moonlit night so we could see where we were going and also when the north winds were not blowing too fiercely. Visiting was always fun. This home in particular had children my own age so I did not just have to sit there and listen to the adults' conversation. The evenings usually involved a light lunch and coffee and then the trip home.

My father was a fast walker. He would be leading us by several yards. My Mother who was short and somewhat chubby, did not move at top speed, and I being the youngest and smallest walked with her. Probably halfway home I would start complaining about being cold. This is when she would take my hands and rub them with her own warm ones. I never knew why her hands were warm as she never had any mittens or gloves on. I don't ever remember my Mother ever wearing anything on her hands, but I do remember the warmth of her hands and to this day it seems rather magical.